Needing to Know
by RainGoddess2040
Summary: Sometimes you just need to know. H/E SLASH! Don't like, don't read.


**Title:** Needing to Know  
**Pairing:** Horatio/Eric  
**Fandom: **CSI: Miami  
**Rating:** FRAO/ R – NC-17  
**Warning:** Angst, slash, sex, drama  
**Spoilers: **All seasons  
**Disclaimer: **Don't own… anything, plot maybe, nothing else. T.T  
**A/N:** This is Horatio talking about Eric. That whole thing with Natalia and Eric never happened.

**#**

It has been three weeks since he was shot, three weeks since my heart almost stopped along with his. It has been two weeks since he got out of the hospital. You wouldn't even know that he'd been hit. The only evidence of his near death experience is the star shaped scar at the nape of his neck and his shorn dark locks.

I look at him laying beside me in my bed finally after all these years and all the brown-eyed lovers I've had. I always had a thing for dark hair and dark eyes, but I have to admit now that this is more than a 'thing'; it's an obsession.

He's here with me. I can see the rise and fall of his chest and hear his soft breath. I can touch and feel the softness of his skin, the harshness of his barely healed scars. I can smell and taste the sweetness of his flesh, but is he really here? My senses tell me he is and I believe them and yet I don't.

I took the week off to spend with him. He's been staying with me for two weeks and he has yet to say anything, that isn't to say that he hasn't spoken to me. He has spoken, but only when I ask him a question. The last time he spoke freely was when we made love for the first time after he got out of the hospital.

The first night we made love, I laid him on the bed and worshipped him, laying gentle kisses, soft touches, and made slow gentle love to him. He called out my name when he came with me inside of him that night, but since then it seems as if he's on mute and I want to turn up the volume, but I can't.

I make love to him harshly, pounding into him furiously. He doesn't make a sound, but for gasps and moans. He doesn't look at me accusingly or concernedly, in fact he doesn't look at me at all. His eyes are closed in ecstasy. I imagine them closed in death and that spurs me on faster, with reminders of other dark eyes closed with finality.

With one last thrust, my hand on his erection, I bring us both over the edge. He looks at me with unreadable eyes as I reach towards the cloth on the nightstand. I clean him up and pull him close intending for us to go to sleep.

I pull him to me, with my cheek atop his head and close my eyes and all I can see is my brother's body, Marisol's still form and Speed's shuddering one – all the people I'd failed. I know I'm still in my bed with Eric, but their faces seem to look at me accusingly as they get up and walk towards me. They stop in front of me as if their waiting for someone or something. Then they part and the pale lifeless face I never wanted to see was in front of my own. There stands Eric. I forget that Eric is alive and breathing and believe entirely that he is dead and that I failed him. I couldn't protect them. I couldn't protect him. I never could.

Somewhere far away I feel soft kisses on my neck and I hear a soft voice murmuring words, telling me to wake up and its okay. It's been so long since I've heard those words and since I've heard such love in his voice that I almost think it's a dream until I open my eyes and feel him in my arms. I know he knows that I'm awake and yet he's still whispering.

His hands are rubbing circles on my back, well as much as they can. I just noticed that I have him in a death grip that's probably making it hard to breathe. I let him go, closing my eyes and feel him move away.

Maybe, what I wanted so badly isn't so great or maybe he just doesn't want me. My thoughts continue in such a pattern until I feel his arms around me. He pulls me close, my head on his chest. I tense at first then rest my head on his ample torso. It's soothing to feel him breathing. Breathing in and out and not exhaling a final breath.

A strange wetness is on his chest and as I feel my face, it is only then that I realize I'm crying.

What had been a mumble of soothing sounds become words. He's telling me that it's okay to cry. He wants me to let it out. He wants me to understand that he's here and not going anywhere.

His last statement confuses me because I know he's here, that he's not going anywhere, but I only take precautions just in case he does go. I only hold him so close yet so loosely to help him understand that I care for him, but I'm willing to let him go, that he doesn't have to stay, that he can find someone new…

He stopped rubbing and whispering a while ago. I haven't noticed the silence. I must have been talking aloud because now he's looking at me as if he's in pain. I want to help and I try to move, but he won't let go.

He tells me that I have a problem. He says that I'm too giving and not selfish enough. He doesn't want to go, but I'm making him feel as if I want him to leave. I don't talk to him. He doesn't talk to me, I tell him. He says he doesn't have anything to say. He says I keep looking at him as if he's not there and treating him as if I know he's going to leave. He tells me he's not leaving. I want to tell him that it's okay and to go back to sleep, but what comes out of my mouth is it's inevitable.

He pulls away from me with tears running down his smooth cheeks. He looks heartbroken. I want to help, to take away his pain, but all I seem able to do is add to it. He gets up and pulls on his pajama bottoms. He pulls on a t-shirt as well and leaves the room. I stay in my spot on the bed as the space where he lay begins to cool. It is only when I here the crash of glass against tile that I vacate my bed.

I find him in the kitchen, curled in a corner. Broken glass is on the floor. He is sobbing.

I go to pick up the glass first, feeling cold and heartless, but knowing that I can't go to him yet because if I go now, he'll run. I sweep up the glass without looking at him because I know that he's still there and for some reason I want him to understand that I know. He stops after a bit, which makes me think that maybe he understands that I understand.

He is silent now, still and unmoving. The glass is in the trash and he is back in bed. I'm beside him silently. I haven't touched him, but I want to. I don't think he wants me to. I move my hand to his and pull it to my lap. I turn it over, palm up and trace the lines of his hands, feeling the ridges along his palm and the calluses on his fingertips. He shudders and tries to pull his hand away, but I only hold on tighter. I will not let him get away this time.

His eyes become wet with tears once again. I still don't completely understand the cause for his first breakdown nor do I think that I'm mentally or emotionally prepared for this one. Yet, as they say, 'you only fail once you stop trying'. My voice is loud in the desperate silence as I ask him what is wrong. He doesn't answer and turns away.

I lift my hand to his face to wipe away his tears. He takes this chance to escape, as it were and he stumbles from the bed. He begins to crawl backwards away and his eyes are haunted as he stares at me. I wonder if he's seeing a ghost. His back touches the door and his tears just stop. It's as if the faucet has simply been turned off or maybe he can't be near me without wanting to cry.

His voice is a hoarse whisper as he asks whether or not I mean it. Mean what, is the question I want to ask, but I know that it'll only make things worse. I say yes and watch his eyes cloud with suspicion. His eyes once showed many emotions like joy and sorrow, anger and pain, but never this cautiousness, never this uncertainty. This is wrong, so wrong.

I get up from the bed slowly, making every movement visible as if he is a frightened animal, ready to bolt. He watches me warily and that almost stills my heart. When I see a flash of fear, I stop completely.

He whispers that he doesn't know what to do anymore. He says that he loves me, but it hurts him too much, sometimes, to be around me. Every word from his mouth is knife piercing my heart. He says that I make him feel invisible and all too real at the same time. He says that he wants me back – the real me, not the fake me of now. He says that he feels like he did die because I treat him like a ghost. He says that I act like a ghost of myself. He wants me to live again.

I stand completely still as he says this, every word hitting me like a physical blow. He's staring at me as I stand and look at him with what must be pain-filled eyes. He turns away from me although I want to look into his eyes.

He breathes a wary sigh into our tense silence and gestures for me to come to him. My steps are faulty and stilting at best, but I make it over to where he is. I sit close enough to touch him, but I don't move my hand. I'm afraid that he'll run again and that this time I won't be able to catch him.

I ask him what this is all about and he says that he doesn't know. He says that there is something that he hasn't done or that I haven't done, but he doesn't know what. He says that maybe he should leave and starts to get up. My heart freezes in my chest and all of a sudden, I can barely breathe.

He's nearly out the door before I realize my mistake. I run after him, grab his arm and spin him around just as his hand turns the doorknob. I look at him, staring into sad eyes and whisper the words that I know he needs to hear.

_ I love you, Eric._

I fall to the floor after admitting it. It feels as if the weight of the world is gone from my shoulders. He kneels down in front of me and pulls me into an embrace. He's crying again, but this time tears of joy.

_ I just needed you to say it, H. I just needed to know._


End file.
